


Lully, Lullay

by Teniserie



Series: Lonely Litewalker: Little Runaways Branch Series [1]
Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: (songfic: Coventry Carol), Gen, series prologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28243866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teniserie/pseuds/Teniserie
Summary: Then woe is me, poor child, for theeAnd ever mourn and sayFor thy parting, neither say nor singFarewell, lully, lullay
Series: Lonely Litewalker: Little Runaways Branch Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068926
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Lully, Lullay

Nothing like the scent of wilting poinsettias and the freshly fallen snow, white and crisp. How it deeply contrasted the deeply saturated dirt, running red with crimson red blood of the slaughtered. That once ran through a lively specimen, now cut and dry and left to wither away in decomposition. The death and decay that resulted from the frozen massacre scorched the lands and tended to with zero remorse.

As the Threshold stood high and mighty in all its glory, towering above all else, an impalpable frequency pulsating that emitted from the edifice’s peak, stirring abuzz in the air and resonated as the thick bloodline and provision of life on the planet in which it stood, dominating Mother Earth as it crushed her power below its intangible heels. The natural energy that fueled the Earth slowly diminishing until all that was left was the last remnants of life in the roots bore unto the rigid crust of the surface.

If one would listen intently, open their ears, they would hear the whistling residue of a heartbroken scream of a loving mother laying her eyes upon the blood-curdling sight. Homes ransacked and pillaged, dwellers pleading the lives of their first bairns under the mercy of the Banes. Rebellious cries only followed as the synthetic butchers were authorized to oblige to the Threshold’s behest, as children over 13 were vowed to a death wish.

“No...no please!!!” The universal mantra that skirted the towns in a frightened daze that lead to no avail which was only as effective as chanting “I got it! I got it!” as the ball goes sailing over your head into the stands. Begging went as far as an ant could crawl away from its designated fate of being thoroughly crushed. There was no stopping the act that was ensued.

The eerie cadence of the steady march of the Banes had soon ceased, leaving behind the wailing terror in its wake. The aftermath in which the people were now indebted to the Threshold, a seal to the protracted deal. There was no room for mourning or grieving for the great loss from what had transpired. Death came knocking on people’s doors and did more than just say ‘hi.’ It wasn’t long after the broadcasted signals began to swell, steering the interference and drilling into the minds of every grown townsfolk that existed, depriving them of every single memory of the beautiful world they once called home. 

A pre-existing life on a dead earth. Attention now diverted, the younger children and infants had been swooped up and out without notice, none of which squirmed in protest from the utter shock of the events that relayed. It was a simple and easy process. The ship in which they now dwelled, with its occasional careening back and forth, back and forth...had it temporarily lulled the newcomers in a steadfast slumber, so similar to the familiar to the rocking of a mother’s arms.

The term of approval of their new life was not of any opprobrium, as the little sociopaths saw no shame in the doings of the past. Just the sheer acceptance from the mockery of their lives that were cruelly yanked away from their grasps, their beliefs and customs forsaken and their derelict sense of identity left unaided. Here, they walked blindly through the course of their truncated lives.

No festive decor this year. No relishing feast to gorge on. No special company to share this once broad-brushed cherished holiday with. No christmas cheer. No presents. No tinsel nor bells. No gadgets and gizmos. No carols. No garlands. No gifts bestowed into their grabbing hands now clenched into tight fists as they soon came to realize that Santa was not coming this year.


End file.
